Let me paint you one picture a house, where home had fled before the onslaught of decay Musty now and rust in every nail; where paint has peeled I'd bring fresh coats of turquoise blue These brushes primed would soak away the shabby chic where once it glowed afresh Where are the folks? the family? three faded baby portraits curled with age Forever they'll remain earth-brown where the sparse grasses still bow down
Reviving some poetry in all simplicity after blog time away and refreshing The Sunday Muse with another photo prompt from Carrie
PoetryPix 
The sense of loss of what was is strong and lovely Laura and the questions at the end really hit even harder. I really love this poem! We have missed you my friend!
thank you Carrie for the prompt and your kind words –
Laura, I like how you describe the aging innards of the structure. The found photos, such a gentle touch.
the photos surprised me too 😉
I like to watch “abandoned” or “urbex” videos on YouTube of people exploring abandoned properties. I often find myself wanting to straighten up, put things right a bit. Also, i often wonder where the people went and why they sometimes leave everything behind including family photographs. There’s rarely an answer.
–Shay
thanks Shay – that is just what I tried for in this poem
i liked those last lines, rather bittersweet, well said
thank you Phillip
It feels as if the house is protecting the last of the memories it can’t quite recall. Gorgeous poem.
an acute observation – thank you
With every line, I became more emotional reading your poem … well done, so well done.
thanks for feeling the words Helen!
Your old house find, i.e. ‘home’, reminds me of the house I was born in. It was the New House, moved in when my dad was a boy. He watched it being moved. There also was the former home which had been made into a ‘hen house’ where the layers lived.
My sister was also born there, when she was old enough to move out of the folks’ bedroom she moved into my room, it was a two-bedroom house, and I began using the front porch as my sleeping room. Dad and Grandpa enclosed it with sliding storm windows but it had no air or heat. On cold Nebraska nights frost would gather on my blanket.
The folks abandoned it when they retired and move to town. Racoons took the house over, even to make a messy bed in the box with old quilts. Later, 2007, the farm was sold and the new owner bulldozed it down. I would estimate it was built around the year 1900.
This got long, I am sorry. My stories take a long time.
..
Interesting
This invites one to ponder the contrast of house and home, and the life imbued in the structure by the essence of family. Puts me in mind of the hauntingly beautiful song, “A House Is Not a Home” written by the team of Burt Bacharach and Hal David in the early 1960’s 1964 I think. Wonderful write Laura.
thank you Rob – the song says it all
Oh this is rich with mood, the questioning of a place abandoned, the hunger to give it color. Beautiful
lovely comment Susie – thank you!
THAT is fantastic imagery, Laura.
❤
David
many thanks David – I needed something to explain the abandonment!
I enjoyed reading your musings, Laura. Lovely imagery, harking back to what once was, the traces of history left behind. You make decay sound so beautiful.
many thanks Sunra – now I’m so much older, decay seems quite beautiful 😉
I love, “a house where home had fled
before the onslaught of decay”.
thank you for picking out that one!